


For His Sake

by Raechem



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Wistful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raechem/pseuds/Raechem
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale meet an old woman who has a Quest.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 41
Collections: Grow Better / Scribbling Vaguely Downwards - Holiday Swap '20





	For His Sake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BRNZ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRNZ/gifts).



> Many thanks to Moonymistress who read this for me and kept me from making several silly mistakes. And thanks to Caedmon, Snowfilly1, and Yvesriba, who offered.

It had been a good day for Soho’s angel and demon; they had finished such holiday preparations as they felt moved to make, including baking and decorating gingerbread men and rolling up bourbon balls in Crowley’s enormous kitchen. The two were now settled comfortably in the back room of the bookshop, on the battered sofa. Crowley had his head in Aziraphale’s lap, and the angel was stroking the demon’s long, soft locks. If anyone had come near enough to Crowley, it is possible they might have heard him purring in contentment, but there was no one to hear except Aziraphale, and he has never told the demon’s secrets.

On this cold winter’s night—Christmas Eve, in fact—they took pleasure in the warmth and simple joy of each other’s presence. Not much conversation required, though kisses here and there may have taken the place of words. 

Abruptly, there was a faint tap at the door. Crowley opened his eyes and glanced lazily in that direction. “Oi, Angel. Been holding midnight sales lately?”

“Why, no, never.” Aziraphale dragged himself up from his cozy seat, Crowley put on his sunglasses, and they prepared to face whatever this might be.

When Aziraphale opened the door, there was an elderly woman outside, so wrinkled and bent and wrapped in shawls that she might as well have been an apple doll. “Might I come in and warm myself, just for a bit? I have been walking such a ways, you can have no notion.” Aziraphale’s innate chivalry kicked in, and there was no way he could possibly refuse.

“Why, yes, madam, do come in. Crowley, could I trouble you for the last of that cocoa you made so well, and perhaps pour in a dash of the cheerful spirit?” Aziraphale helped the lady settle herself, and unwrapped a couple of shawls so the warmth of the shop could be felt the sooner by this wanderer, sheltering from the storm. (It was actually NOT a stormy night, merely very cold.)

Crowley returned with the requested cocoa, augmented by a slug from Aziraphale’s potent bottle, and a little plate, on which rested a piece of the braised pheasant they, or at least Aziraphale, had dined on, a few pickles on the side, and a brace of biscuits. Aziraphale looked at him, mildly astonished, and Crowley rolled his eyes. “If she’s been ‘walking such a ways’, Angel, we can’t send her out without a bite to eat; she’ll be fainting on your doorstep next. Inconvenient.” His eyes met Aziraphale’s, daring him to say it was a “nice thing to do”, or worse, that HE was nice. Crowley set the food and cocoa down at the elderly lady’s elbow, and dropped himself back onto the sofa.

“Madam, do refresh yourself, and perhaps there is someone we can call for you, to come and help you home?” Aziraphale suggested.

The old woman wiped a bit of the pheasant’s sauce off her upper lip, licked it off her finger, and smiled at him. “Thank you, you are a gentleman. But no place have I called home in a very long time.” She took another bite of the pheasant, and appeared to enjoy it very much.

“Then, what brings you out on such a cold night, Madam?” Aziraphale gently pressed.

“Same as every year, young man. I have my work to do and my penance to complete. I owe it for being such a slugabed, and not listening when I had the chance.”

Aziraphale blinked at her. “I am afraid I do not understand?”

Before she could answer, Crowley leaned forward. “I think I recognize you. You were the one who came late to Bethlehem, after the babe and his family had already gone. Right?”

She stopped eating for a moment, and tears came to her eyes. “True enough, young man. The men came to my door, oh, so richly dressed, and asked me to come with them to see the little Christchild. But it was so cold, and the wind blew so fiercely, and my fire so warm in my little cottage. So I told them to stay, and we would all go in the morning, but they would not. In the morning, I took my thickest cloak, and my stoutest sandals, and put the toys I had made overnight into my basket, and set out. But still I have never found the men, nor the Christchild.” She sniffled a bit more, then wiped her nose and set to eating the rest of the food Crowley had brought to her, and then drank the cocoa. “Oooh! That is a marvellous drink! I thank you for sharing it with an old beggar-woman on a cold night.”

Crowley was loudly silent. Aziraphale looked at him, then back at the woman. “You are most welcome, of course. If you are refreshed, please, tell me whom to call for you?”

She shook her head. “There is no one left whom you could—call, is it? My daughter is dead, and her children, and her children’s children’s children. It has been long since I set out in search of the Christchild, long since I began paying the price of waiting, instead of going to Him at the call. No matter, I do still slip into the little ones’ rooms on Christmas Eve and leave a toy upon their pillows, for His sake. For the little Christchild’s sake. And some day, I shall find Him, and then I will be done.”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other, and then at her. And finally, they sensed great age upon the old woman, greater than any ordinary mortal, and they knew they had done all that they could do for her.

Groaning a bit, she hoisted herself up out of the chair, re-wrapped herself in all her shawls, and bowed to Aziraphale and Crowley. “Truly, you have done Ha-Shem’s work this night, and given me a sorely needed rest. May you both be blessed beyond the common work of men, as you have blessed me tonight.” She looked round for her basket, picked it up, and went toward the door. Aziraphale, naturally, leaped to her elbow to see her out gracefully (and also to keep her from tripping over the many hazards of the old bookshop). As he took her elbow courteously, he scattered a blessing on her as well. She stopped and looked sharply at him. “I appreciate the thought, boy, but I am one of the Unblessed, and you should not waste them upon me.”

Crowley unfolded his long self from his couch corner, and slipped his glasses off. He stalked over to her slowly. “As you see, I am Fallen. And yet, this Angel here has found it in his heart to welcome me into his home and—so I believe—into his heart as well. Never think you cannot need or use his blessing.”

She eyed him for a moment, then turned back to the door to go. “If an old woman’s wish can be of any worth, you have mine. Blessings upon the both of you, and upon the work that you do.” And she was gone, slipping out through the door. 

Aziraphale and Crowley sat for a time, after she had left, thinking. “Angel?” Crowley asked. 

“Yes, my dearest?”

“Why does she think she owes penance?”

“Well, because she waited one night before going in search of the Christchild.”

“But—she has walked so far, and gifted toys to so many, many children. It is over two thousand years, Angel. I can’t even count that high to know how many children. How could she still owe anyone anything after all that?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I do not know, my dearest love. But she thinks so. I remember another who was certain he could never be redeemed, that he was hopeless. That turned out not to be at all true, didn’t it?”

Crowley shook his head in turn, and buried his face in Aziraphale’s waistcoat and against his soft, round body. He had nothing further to say that evening at all. And the old woman was gone, out into the streets again, where she walks always, giving her little gifts to the children, and searching for the Christchild, through the years, and forever.


End file.
